Reaper of the Martial World - Book 13: Chapter 31: Crumblee

The battle had completely flipped. The once lofty Aritzia was continuously beaten back, her First Brother lording over her with a majesty that completely overshadowed her own light.

Dyon’s scythe was like an unceasing wind, violently leaving traces of sharp black light in the air.

In the skies, a singular eye lorded over all, bearing down on Aritzia. It could see through her completely. Her every thought, her every intent, her every emotion.

For the first time, Aritzia felt as though she was laid bare before another. As the wounds continued to accumulate across her once flawless body, a sharp bitterness invaded her heart.

She was Aritzia Sapientia. The first True Empath. A woman who stood at the top of the world. But somehow, she had become the punching bag of

someone she thought had already fallen from his pedestal. How could she not feel bitter?

Regret wasn’t the emotion she felt. What use was it to her? Dyon had already woken her up to the fact that her love for him wasn’t as genuine as she once thought it was. If she was going to regret anything, it would be the fact that she was too weak.

Too weak to control her own future. Too weak to reach the pinnacle she sought after. Too weak to stand before the only man she thought of as worthy of her as an equal.

Dyon’s chain lashed out, its rainbow flames flickering and completely dispelling the accumulating qi of Aritzia’s next attack.

It wrapped around her arm, clamping down tightly. With a single strong flex of his back, his arm pulled her toward his palm.

BANG!

Aritzia’s world seemed to freeze for a moment, the pain wrecking her torso lagging behind the sudden curve of her body.

First she felt as though all the air in her body had been forcefully sucked out. Then, her ribcage shattered as a violent surge of blood flew from her soft lips as though a projectile.

However, despite the viciousness of the strike, Dyon’s chains held on tightly, not allowing the power of his palm to dispel in the least.

His scythe spun in his hand, its blade descending from the skies and toward Aritzia’s head.

She could only dodge with all her might to the side, but a sudden ‘PCHUU’ sound entered her ears just before an impossibly sharp pain shot through her body. If it wasn’t for the fact her pride could tower over the skies, she would have let out a heart-rending cry.

She didn’t need to look to know that she had lost an arm.

This pain… As though awakening from a dream, everything suddenly became clear to her. This really was happening. Her First Brother was really trying to kill her.

Though Dyon never reciprocated her emotions, that had never stopped him from doting on her. The love she received from him was no less than what the First White Mother received. Maybe somewhere in her heart, she still didn’t believe that Dyon would do such a thing to her. An indescribable pain pierced into her heart.

Was this how he had felt when she attacked to kill? Was this the pain that had enveloped his heart?

‘That’s right…’ Aritzia silently spoke to herself.

To her, this instant of time felt like an eternity. It was the fraction of a fraction of a fraction of a

second. But to her, with the constant thoughts whipping by her mind, it was akin to a lifetime.

Was she really so weak? Was a single setback enough for her to fall like this? Was this single failure enough for her to bow her head?

She had attacked to kill him. He had attacked to kill her. This was no longer a battle of First Brother and Second Sister. This was a battle of ideologies. This was a clash of love versus ambition. A battle of simplicity versus complexity. A penultimate struggle between her dreams and aspirations and his.

How many times had her First Brother been in such a despairing situation? And how many times had he clawed his way out? If she couldn’t display this small bit of resolve, was she even worthy of standing on the same battlefield as him?

But why did it feel like no matter how hard she tried, it was impossible to find this resolve?

‘Why… What am I lacking…’

Aritzia roared, her only remaining hand wrapped across her body, snatching her severed arm from the air and using it like a blade that aimed right for Dyon’s head.

Dyon’s head dodged to the side, his indifferent gaze weighing like a mountain as it looked toward her from above.

His scythe lashed out again in the close range, his chain tightening on her only remaining arm once again.

Aritzia managed to dodge to the side slightly by inclining her body backward, thus saving her remaining arm. But, a ghastly cut stretched from her hip to her opposite shoulder, leaving her leaking out blood to a devastating degree.

“I’ve already said it.” Dyon said coldly. “You seek after a Throne prepared for you by others. I will prepare my own Throne.

“Anything that gets in my way, I will crush. But… would you dare to crush even the Throne you’ve been chasing after?!”

Aritzia felt as though her mind had been directly attacked. They were only words, not laced with the slightest bit of qi, but it ravaged her thoughts as though a torrential storm.

Would she dare to destroy even the goal she was pining over?

Was this the level of resolve she needed? To not even care about such things?

It hit her like a train… That was right… If she was as powerful as her First Brother… Would she dare to give up all that power, living through 108 more lifetimes, starting from the bottom every time… How much humiliation did he have to

suffer through in those years? How many fools offended him, not knowing the name of the Nameless Immortal God?

He wished to stand at the top of the world just as much as she did, but he was still willing to cast it all away. If he never had… would their Sapientia Clan still dare to act arrogantly before him today?

Ancestors of the Hegemons? Who cared? The First True Empath in all of history? Who cared? An army of trillions? Who cared.

He was Dyon Sacharro. The Nameless Immortal God. All of these things would have disappeared with a snap of his fingers in his prime. Yet, he had given it all up, willing to stand here today, battling out a close contest with her as though completely unmoved by the fact that in the past she wouldn’t be able to stand a single attack from him.

This was the resolve he had. And it was something she still lacked. And why…?

All because she didn’t dare to do what her First Brother did.

Aritzia fell to the ground, her countenance incomparably pale. It seemed as though all the blood in her body had been drained from her wounds.

Dyon stood above her, his scythe’s curved blade placed against her neck. He had a naturally calm expression as though this victory was meaningless to him, as though Aritzia’s life and death was no longer a matter he cared about.

“Now tell me, was it worth it?”

Dyon’s soft words entered her ears, causing her to violently tremble.

If Dyon died in the pursuit of bringing his family back together again, he wouldn’t bat an eyelash. Even if he never considered a loss, it didn’t mean

he couldn’t accept one. But, what about her? Was dying here for the sake of her aspirations worth it? Had her life been worth it?

“Before you die, tell me something. Who is it that’s been helping you?”

Dyon’s cold voice rang out.

He didn’t believe for a second that it was only the Sapientia. They were indeed a worthy enemy, but only because of how many of them there were. They had infiltrated practically every planar world. However, Dyon knew that the strongest amongst them was Aritzia. They shouldn’t have any other powers on this level.

But, he knew that matters weren’t this simple. He still didn’t know who had killed his three disciples.

“Helping… me…?”

Aritzia coughed up several mouthfuls of blood.

…

At this moment, on the battlefield of the Sapientia versus those of Soul Rend Planet, all seemed well. With the defensive measure Dyon had left, it seemed impossible for anything to continue to go wrong. The enemies were simply too suppressed while Dyon’s allies could pull on the power of the Ancient Battlefield, allowing them to loosen the shackles placed on them by the Heavens by a few margins.

Madeleine sat atop the Palace, watching the ongoing battle. Though her countenance was several shades paler than it had been months ago, a radiant smile could still be seen on her face as her beautiful violet eyes flickered.

The nine month period was almost up, but she was confident. She could feel the fluctuations of Dyon’s soul. She knew that he had won. How could she not be happy?

“Oh? Big Sister Madeleine seems to be very happy?”

The First White Mother descended from the skies along with her Master Abraxus. The amiable old man who seemed to be wearing a white pair of pajamas smiled down at Madeleine as though greeting his own daughter.

“Yes.” Madeleine’s smile bloomed several shades brighter. “My husband should have victory in his hands now. Everything will be over soon.”

The First White Mother giggled like a little girl. “As expected of First Brother, how could he ever lose? It’s a shame about Second Sister, though…”

Madeleine sighed and shook her head. “She chose her own path… I only hope that this matter doesn’t weigh on my husband’s heart too heavily…”

Madeleine shook her head, regaining her smile.

“Since you two can be here, things should be going extraordinarily well, right? It seems that victory on our front is at hand as well.”

The pair landed before Madeleine, genial smiles on both their faces.

“Indeed. You can say that victory is at hand.”

PCHUU

Madeleine’s smile froze. She looked down in disbelief and then back up again as though she was more shocked by the owner of the arm that had just gone through her body as opposed to the fact she had just suffered such an injury.

Abraxus’ white, fluttering clothing was dyed completely red. He let out a light sigh as he shook Madeleine’s body from his arm.

At that moment, the protection of the mortal plane shattered. As though following the

dimming of Madeleine’s eyes, so too did the world crumble.

Trillions of golden silhouettes blotted out the skies once more. Under their presences, Heaven’s will shattered, taking with it whatever suppression still remained.